Prologue A Happy Ending
by harajuku beauty queen
Summary: EDIT I changed two words around because i realized that i had screwed up This is a necessary prologue that I may or may not add to, but I love Princess Tutu and so do you so keep me on alert and I won't dissappoint you
1. The Unhappy Ending

Once upon a time there was a knight, and there was a princess. Both had fought a great evil to save the pure hearts of a prince and his true beloved princess, but there came a time when the evil was no more, and even though happiness and peace had been restored, both had outlived their usefulness and now both had gone back to the lives they had once known. The knight became a writer, his pen his only sword, and the princess turned back into a little yellow duck.

Everything was peaceful and back to normal. The boy that was once a knight sat on a pier and wrote all day, and the princess who was now a duck kept the boy company in her quiet lake. Everything _seemed_ peaceful, anyway…


	2. Her Happy Ending

Wow… has changed a LOT since the last time I was involved….

Here's the next piece of prologue

_I have to write a story for her… One worthy of her…_

Fakir chewed the tip of his quill pen, staring at the half-covered parchment paper in his notebook, wondering just how to finish her story.

She swam in circles, her big blue eyes closed, a peaceful, easy expression on her little duck face.

_The water is so nice today… I could swim in it forever!_ She sighed in a happy, quackish way, and paddled her little orange feet a little faster.

_How can one express their true feelings in words without sounding pathetic?_ Fakir wondered, watching his little friend calmly. She was so easy to please, and always offered her companionship to him, the person that had treated her the worst in her human days. Thinking back on his actions towards the bright, strong, passionate redhead, his face grew hot with embarrassment and his stomach turned with personal disgust.

"I'm such an ass…" He muttered to himself. "But now… I'm going to make it up to her."

Ahiru looked towards Fakir, chewing his quill with creased brow.

_He works so hard on that, whatever it is… I wish I could read it, I bet it's great!_ She paused, her feet still and her eyes proud of her friend.

"_Princess Ahiru had finally found the prince of her dreams. He took her hand and flew her away to his far away land. They lived together in a shining white castle, dancing their pas de deux of love for all eternity._"

Fakir frowned. It was corny and vague, but he felt complete and content. He had finally finished a story for her. It wasn't the best, but he knew she would appreciate it all the same.

Looking up, Fakir squinted to see Ahiru in the gathering dark. It was still too early in the spring for the sun to stay out long. She was swimming to him, fed and happy and ready for sleep.

"Hey you, you took your time today." Fakir half-smiled at the wet little creature as she stepped onto the bank and shook herself dry. He scooped her up and turned towards home. "We'll have to hurry to make it home while there's still light."

_Oh Fakir, always so cold, but I know you don't mean it._ Ahiru smiled to herself. She had long ago recognized her friend's self-defense mechanisms and had ignored them like only a true friend could. She pushed aside his frosty and bitter exterior to see the warm heart beneath and she cuddled against his warmth as if to prove it.

"Cold? We'll I'd be too if I spent all day in the water." Fakir shook his head, quickening his step to make it home faster. Ahiru sneezed a little duck sneeze and shook her head.

"Idiot. I told you it was too cold today."

"Quack." She snipped back.

_Maybe I should read it to her… _His free hand brushed against the book in his pocket. _It's childish and silly… Wait… she'd love it…_

Ahiru felt sleepy in the warmth of Fakir's coat, listening to his steady heartbeat. In fact, she could barely keep her eyes open a moment longer…


	3. Once Upon a Time

_There is a land ruled by a king who had the power to create the future. A quill dipped in his own blood the only tool he needed to spin the tale as he wished. For many, many years the story was good and the king and his family were happy. The people of the land never knew famine or plague, nor harsh weather or pestilence._

_Everything in the kingdom seemed to go wonderfully, but mustn't all good things come to an end?_

Abenleid was the youngest princess in the shining white castle surrounded by miles and miles of gardens and woods. Everyone in the royal family had their own garden, and Abenleid's was to the east, in the direction of the great sea. Her garden was full of night-blooming flowers, and night-dwelling songbirds. The garden could be called overgrown and some would go as far as to call it wild, but Abenleid loved it. When she sat beneath the shady trees on warm days, the spirals of closed moonflower buds higher than her head, a gilt-edged book open in her lap, she was peaceful, and when she danced among the fragrant jasmine and moonflower blossoms beneath the full moon, she felt happy. But Abenleid was not truly happy. Abenleid was far from happy.

Abenleid sat at her vanity gazing into her own eyes before casting a critical glance over her face. She was the very image of her father, black hair, emerald green eyes, sharp chin, creamy skin, tall and thin, long legs she had finally grown into, and a serious, almost stern expression. To anyone's eyes she would have been beautiful, even stunning… if she would smile once in a while, but to her eyes, her older sisters would always surpass her beauty by far.

Hildegard the Fortress, Phoenix Lady, Brilliant Princess, her second oldest sister, was like their mother with a rosy complexion sprinkled with freckles and wavy hair the color of glowing embers that fell to her waist, golden eyes the color of amber, and a sweet smile. Also like her mother, she had a somewhat flighty disposition, and a bubbly laugh, but, like her father, she would spend hours hidden away in her room or hiding in her private gardens writing tales of fantasy and magic, seated on the edge of the fountain in her garden, the fountain with her angelic form shooting an arrow spouting water into a golden basin. She was kind and loving, but tended to be condescending at times.

Swanhilde the Warrior, Swan Lady, Glorious Princess, her eldest sister, was unusual. Her skin was white and downy soft, her hair was so fair and fine it was almost like spider silk. It curled gently in long spirals down to her feet when it was left alone, but Swanhilde was vain and preferred her hair up in elaborate designs hung with jewels. She was usually very kind and sweet, but tended to be moody as she surveyed all before her with calculating, almost cruel eyes and pink lips pursed. She was so beautiful she could stop an entire army in their tracks just by turning her face to them, and she knew it. She spent all her free time in front of her massive marble and gold fountain, gazing either at the marble image of herself, water pouring from her copy's raised sword, or else she would gaze into the fountain at the mirrored bottom, watching her own live face.

Abenleid the Undefined, Shining Princess, was not the great scholar like Hildegard, not the unstoppable warrior like Swanhilde; she was hardly even the Shining Princess. She had not yet proven herself as a person and spent her days in her dark room or her overgrown garden of night-blooming flowers and thorny rosebushes.

Seated before her small, plain white fountain, she closed her eyes in the shadows and sighed.

"What is my purpose on this earth?" She whispered, her voice soft and almost raspy. She heard soft music coming from the direction of the castle, too soft to make out really. Her father must have been playing the piano in the studio. She rose and moved towards the sound, the white castle dazzling in the sun, bright enough to make her squint as she neared it. The music drifted out the stained glass window, making her want to waltz.

Abenleid pushed open the secret door under a rose-covered arbor and stepped into the cool, dark passage. Dressed as she was in her worn white romantic style tutu with the ripped skirt and broken shoulder strap, she only had to pull on her worn pointe shoes. Stepping very quietly into the studio, she rosined her shoes. The small standup piano on the floor was unoccupied, so the music was coming from the music studio separated by a glass wall and a curtain.

Stretching quickly as Fur Elise finished, she waited in fifth position for the next song to begin.

A bubbling, effervescent melody floated and swirled around her as she rose up on her toes and began to dance. She filled the in violins in her head as she danced across the floor. Sant-Saens' 'Aquarium' was her favorite tune, dark and hauntingly beautiful; she twirled and floated like the opalescent soap bubbles she'd blown as a child. Closing her eyes she imagined herself in an iridescent dress dancing on the sandy floor of a blue sea. She opened her green eyes to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirrored walls, tatty and dull, the tiny silver crown perched atop her head the only thing that made her look remotely like a princess. Her pointe shoes were so worn the satin was peeling off the paste toe box, the hem of her skirt was so ragged and worn that she looked like an ancient but clean ballerina doll. She thought of the closets full of slippers, pointe shoes, and tutus all bright, clean, brand new, and never worn.

She mentally shook herself and concentrated on her dancing. She danced and danced, _chaine_ after _chaine_, making herself dizzy. The music had stopped and still she danced until she crashed into the wall, hitting her stomach against the _barre_.

Trying to catch her breath, she hung her head, staring at her feet in the mirror. Thus occupied she didn't hear the soft footsteps crossing the room behind her.

"Are you alright?" Her father came up behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him, a slight frown on his face and a worried crease in his brow.

"Yes, I'm fine, I just lost control for a moment." She met his green eyes with her own. She was never formal with her father. She respected him more than anyone in the world, but if anyone understood her and knew how she worked inside, it was he, her closest friend.

She turned to him and he took her hands.

"You're troubled." He said, rather than questioned. "Abenleid, dearest daughter, what will make you smile for me again? Your mother and I so want to see you happy."

"Oh Father," She laughed a little, eyes fixed on the floor. "If only I knew."

She pictured in her head the beautiful and terrible Swanhilde, the wise and courageous Hildegard, both her sisters true princesses and real women. Her mother, a graceful and beautiful queen, her father a noble, valiant, and scholarly king… Abenleid was tired of being Abenleid the Undefined. Abenleid the Suitorless. Abenleid the Quiet, the Unnoticed, the Dull.

"My dear, go prepare yourself for tonight's banquet. I have a surprise for you." He smiled a little mischievously before kissing her forehead.

Abenleid curtsied and left the room with her father gazing after her, a slight pain in his heart to see his dearest daughter so down.


End file.
